Things went wrong, but I had fun. You just have to take the things that go wrong in stride.
It started out well. The night before I even took Mister's suitcase down from his bedroom and placed it by the fire place so I wouldn't forget it upstairs. I managed to get out my door in the morning on time and even left my Ex's house with Mister ahead of when I expected to go. Mister even got a magazine he ordered in the mail before we left. He counted on that to keep him occupied on the train trip. Lamb woke up to say goodbye though my Ex wasn't pleased with her loss of sleep. Personally, I think Lamb would wonder why dad and brother didn't say goodbye more than worrying about an hour less of sleep. But that's me, I guess. I've always been more of a morning person than her though objectively, I'm not.
And we made it to the tunnel with no delays. The only hiccup was choosing the wrong line for Canadian customs. I though the horse trailer I pulled behind was a two-car equivalent in line length, but it more than made up for that in the time it took to clear Canadian customs. Oh well. I over-optimistically noted to Mister that perhaps this was our travel mishap and it was all clear sailing from now on! Heck, even the fact that I'd failed to sign my passport didn't get me cavity searched! Once in Canada, all would be smooth--legally wise--until I had to run the gauntlet of US customs on the way back in. Let me just say that entering Canada with a child and leaving without one (though I do it year after year) seems to catch their attention.
But we'd gotten past a potential problem and were home free! In film, that would be called foreshadowing.
Only minutes later we pulled into the train station at Windsor and I parked the car. The station has always seemed in an odd place, with nothing of interest to a traveler nearby. The liquor factory nearby doesn't count.
Mister and I got out, grabbed what we needed from the passenger compartment, and I opened the trunk to grab our luggage.
"I forgot your luggage," is what I said the instant I looked down. Apparently, I never went near the fire place in the morning.
Mister was disturbed. In his short life thus far, going on vacation strongly implies having luggage. It has the clothes not on your back and other such things one would normally have in a large area of bedroom and bathroom.
So it was lesson in coping time. I was clearly still in parenting mode. We have options, I said. Let's go inside and find out what it costs to change our ticket to Toronto to a later departure. With a long layover in Toronto, we have the time to return to Ann Arbor and get the bag.
I admitted my epic vacation fail to the staff--who were very sympathetic--but the sad fact was that it would cost me 140 Canadian dollars to do that. Add in the cost of the gas and two more crossings--and two more runs at customs--and the alternative of buying luggage and clothes in Toronto seemed far wiser. We could even have waited until arriving in Sudbury, but then Mister's grandfather would insist on paying and I didn't want to do that to him. So we had a plan. And we'd still have time to go to the island amusement park in Toronto.
So we boarded the train in short order and settled in. Mister's shoulder bag contained all his entertainment so the loss of his luggage wasn't even an immediate problem.
As I told my son, any problem that can be solved with an amount of money you have available isn't that bad of a problem, really. So there's your parenting lesson: don't panic, make and assess options, pick your option, and then move on--complete the mission.
The trip went smoothly. We ate our brunch, chatted, and read or watched movies. Mister didn't even tease me over the lost luggage. How did we raise such a good kid?
Once in Toronto we stored our bags and headed north underground since I'd seen both drug stores and luggage stores down there. We nabbed toiletries but the luggage stores had no useful sales. At Hudson Bay, we walked into the store at the luggage department. Sixty percent off. Huzzah! We selected a piece--ten year guarantee on the thing--and Mister picked a color. He travels with his mom and sister more than with me so I figured he should have it (and I can borrow it if need be).
That was fast. This will be a piece of cake. But the Bay didn't have clothes at reasonable prices. I was not paying what they asked for. Good grief, clothing prices are expensive in Canada! Why they don't all walk around buck naked is beyond me.
So it was off to Sears across the mall, suitcase in tow. It took a while, but I replaced everything piece for piece in the luggage with items on sale (needing only a trip to American Eagle for aanother pair of shorts). As a bonus, he had more underwear and socks. But I bought no belt figuring he could get a spare from his grandfather up north or I'd loan him one of my two, if all else failed. Luckily I had Mister's swim suit and diving mask in my luggage.
We dragged our stuff off to the Sheraton lobby and we quickly unwrapped clothing while I ripped off plastic tags with my keys, and packed them in the new suit case. We worked quickly because it occurred to me that this looked an awful lot like a stage in a child snatching--picked him up on the street, bought him luggage and clothes, and then we're off to hide from the law!
Just in case, I said to Mister loud enough to be heard by nearby strangers, "See? Losing your luggage wasn't so bad. We'll just tell mom we did your back-to-school shopping." With the problem solved, he felt free to jab me mildly over that ever so slight oversight on my part. Later, when I mentioned my tiny slip to my Ex, she good naturedly teased me. Well, at least I knew where Mister got his restraint (hey, I'm telling this story). She was happy to have a sturdy piece of luggage and was a bit jealous of how cooperative Mister was during shopping (he hates it). Take away all his clothes, I said, and he's surprisingly cooperative.
So we left the lobby without police entering and talking to someone pointing at us. Now we're cooking.
So it was time for an amusement park. We stored our additional suit case with Via Rail and headed for the ferry. Ominously, dark clouds were rolling in. We got on moments before it pulled out. But the clouds! Oh heck, did this shopping delay this long enough to repeat last year's debacle of entering the ferry when the rain drops started and reaching the island in a deluge?
But the rain held off. And though the staff warned against the wrist bands since the island closed in three hours, we laughed in the face of warnings. We don't need your stinking individual tickets!
And in the end, we had a ball, getting our money's worth with the bands despite the lines.
That's the Mill Ride on the way down.
Yeah, my son had fun:
So we left on the ferry at fading light:
We arrived back at the train station as dusk descended. As we crossed the street, I kept my eye on a driver edging forward, eager to make a right turn on red. And then she jumped forward as Mister an I were about to walk in front of her. "Hey!!!" I yelled, as I shot my right arm out and quite literally reversed Mister's vector. That would have prevented disaster alone, but the driver did indeed stop to the hoots of many locals around the intersection who mocked her driving skills. Move along. Nothing to see.
We had a late dinner in Harvey's in the station and grabbed some donuts from Tim Horton's for dessert and breakfast in the morning. (I do like me my Tim's while I'm in Canada. Hello?? Corporate headquarters! Ann Arbor here!)
We settled into seats and checked in with Mister's mom so she'd know all was well. At her urging, we eventually go a four-seater when no family claimed it. Mister had his neck pillow his mom bought him for the trip and I had an inflatable courtesy of some airline. During a daytime trip, Mister would love the observation car. But for a night trip, it was just some movie for him and then sleep. I went right for sleep.
We arrived at Sudbury Junction in the pre-dawn hours--at a double-wide acting as a station--on time, and I called a cab to go to the hotel where Mister's grandfather was staying. Showers were welcome in my ex-father-in-law's room and the feuding couple in the room next door were long gone to the police station (and the workmen to repair the room not yet arrived). We did some quick shopping and it was off to the car for a long trip to the marina and a boat ride to the cabin that to this day leaves me lost.
There really isn't a lot to say about the time on the island. The weather was nicely warm and I even went swimming with Mister off the dock:
We pulled Mister behind the boat on an Airhead, and we had slow-paced fun. I enjoyed my days there, though I discovered I could not take as many pictures as I'd hoped since the shutter opened while the camera was in my pocket sometime during the first day's trip, draining the battery to one bar. Heck.
But as much as I really did enjoy my time on the island, I really am a city boy. See the harmless little tree frog?
Cute, huh? Apparently, its defensive maneuver is to turn its back on you, spray the predator with urine, and leap away in the confusion. This picture was just before that sequence, while I leaned in to look. Yeah, pretty cute.
So Mister and his grandfather took me to Sudbury where I parked in a hotel lobby until the station opened so I could get on the 2:20 AM train. I will say that this at least has the advantage of getting me into Toronto in the morning in time for evening activities no matter how late the train. One year, when the train left in the afternoon, it got me into Toronto rather close to midnight, grossly constricting my evening.
I took a cab to the station with a brief detour to the wrong station downtown. As we passed on building close to the station, the driver warned to stay away from that place. Why? That's the local crack house and prostitutes hang out there, too. Ah, I said. Good to know. And, I joked, with the prostitutes hanging out at a crack house, you know they're high class hookers, eh? But I got to the right place eventually.
Mister would have some time alone with his grandfather who was going to teach Mister to drive the boat this summer. They'd hang out until his sister and mom arrived for a few days and then all drive home.
Me? I'd finally get to set down the constant burden of parenting for a few days. A burden? Yes, indeed. I say that without guilt.It is a burden I gladly and willingly bear, but you're darned right it is a burden. I always worry I've forgotten something more important than luggage--something that money can't fix. I love my children and constantly worry that I'll screw something up. Indeed, for years I did not know what it was like to really set down that burden. Single days here and there didn't count, nor did even a few days without the kids if they were on a short vacation with their mom. I was at home or at work, and always on "parent" setting. Dates didn't do more than suppress my awareness of that setting for a time.
The first time I went to Toronto after leaving Mister up north, many years ago, I had such a fun time on my own that it took me months to really settle into parenting again, though I kept the schedule of parenting. I truly worried that I was disengaging from being a dad--something I knew was common in divorce no matter how dedicated and committed the dad was to parenting.
The next summer, I worried that the feeling would kick in again after turning the dial to "single guy." That was the year I got Bell's Palsy and--worrying I'd had a stroke (I didn't think so at the time, believing accurately as it turns out to be a nerve issue--but I'm a history major!), took a taxi to the emergency room. I recovered nicely in short order, and semi-joked that it was God's way of reminding me not to have too much fun at the expense of being a parent.
Let me just say that it if that was God's intent, it worked. Since that event five years ago, I've had no problem eagerly moving the dial back to "parent" after enjoying myself on vacation.
Once on the ground in Toronto, only an hour late, I switched fully to "single" mode. My first stop was Tim Horton's for lunch. I had many hours to check in on my hotel on Bloor Street. That was way farther north than I'd like, but Priceline changed their territories for downtown and that's what I drew this time. Drat. But I planned to walk north from the station to eat up time. Tim's to get me started, and then lunch at a small brewpub-type place with outdoor seating for lunch and beer. Ah, vacation! I ate at my leisure, reading my book and enjoying the multi-cultural delights of Toronto's women walking or seated nearby, and drank my fill of fine Canadian brews.
As a bonus, I wasn't on the ground more than an hour before tourists asked me for directions. Score! I am passing for Canadian again! And I told them where China Town was.
I arrived at the Marriott an hour before formal check in time, 40 hours since my last shower and shave, 30 hours since my last change of clothes, and 30 minutes from my last beer. Ah! Vacation!
Somewhat to my surprise, they had a room for me. And it was on the concierge level, a grade up from the rabble rooms. And on Priceline prices! Life is good. I unpacked and headed out.
No need for lots of details, here. My usual haunt at "Gracie's" in the entertainment district was far away and I planned only one trip there--the first night--since the band was a Tennessee band that played a mix of rock and country. One guy in the band was from "Detroit," but as I chatted with him at the bar before they went on, he gave me the name of a small town north of Detroit. Nobody would know that town. So he's "from (near) Detroit." It was crowded but not as crowded as it would be on a Friday or Saturday. I had a blast.
I should have returned to the place the next two nights, really, based on the fun, but I thought I'd take advantage of my location to see if the northern edge of downtown had appeal. I researched some likely places on the Internet before the trip.
Heck, there was even a totally nude bar (not the patrons, I hasten to add) very close by. I was tempted. It has been decades since I've been to the Windsor Ballet (as it is called). But at some level, it seems pathetic to be a man of my age leering at strange nude women. Besides, I'd probably waste much of the advantage by struggling to maintain eye contact. I'm really that polite. The bottom line is that I fear I'd just wake up the next morning in my hotel room, broke, magic markered below the waist, and with no real memory of the main attractions at the bar.
At some point I may become resigned to settling for such entertainment, but that day has not arrived.
I also managed to see three movies, "The Other Guys" (stupid, plotless, but funny anyway in an off-kilter sort of way), "Salt" (surprisingly good, I must admit, with a Dark Angel flavor to it), and "The Expendables. It was entertaining in a loud and fast sort of way despite several scenes that just screamed, "Oh. Come. On!" Really, tactical sense was zero. And that running car chase in a US city with automatic rifles blazing attracted no police attention at all? Really?
The last I saw when I realized I was a weekend off for a baseball game and when I missed the lottery for tickets to the play "Rock of Ages" based on going to the wrong theater and going the wrong way around a block to reach the right theater literally as the staff announced, "we'll begin the drawings momentarily." missed it by that much. (Note: Get Smart! reference)
I also scored some of my Ballantine's History of the Violent Century books at the used book store I like to scour for this series (and you are daft if you think I'll give the name of this great place!) At first, I thought the place was closed down, it being dark with a long sign explaining how they were closing in August for restocking, with no indication that it was open while I was in town! Luckily, I pulled on the door before walking away in disgust, and it pulled open! Drive on!
I even had a very pleasant surprise when my Ex flew through Toronto on the way up north and booked a night at the same hotel! I'd been downcast a bit that it would be so long between seeing my daughter, Lamb, since the plan was I'd be home after they left Ann Arbor. So I took them to dinner where my Ex dumped a glass of water on my lap at dinner (lightly spraying Lamb, too). I took it calmly, I should add, joking that it wasn't a vacation until a women threw a drink on me.
But I was not dialed to "single." I was firmly, if unexpectedly, dialed to "parent" setting, walking hand-in-hand with my little girl, delighted to have this time with her. I walked them back to their room so Lamb's mom could get her ready for bed, and I returned to my room to reset to "single", shower, and head out to a nearby (less than 15 minute walk) bar that was supposed to have live music that night.
Out of the shower, the fire alarm went off.
Reset to "parent."
Call their room and dress quickly. Walk down the stairs to their room, reassure Lamb that it is probably a false alarm, and walk outside just in case.
At the all-clear, they went up and I attempted to redial and have a few beers, despite the later start than I planned. I kept looking back to see if the hotel was in flames. And I left my phone on. Just in case something went horribly wrong.
I never did shift back fully to "single" mode after that. There was no band at the bar Saturday (the Internet betrayed me! Now it was Friday nights). And the bar was sparsely populated. So I watched a Canadian Football League game (Huh, do they really get a point for just attempting a field goal, or did I miss something?), had a few beers, and called it an early night, midnightish, so I could wake up early for breakfast with Lamb. Best not to be hung over, I suppose.
My northern expedition was a relative fail, though there are some other sites that could pan out that I had further down my list. I should have tried them, or just used cabs or subways to reach my usual grounds further south.
In the morning, we had a big breakfast at the hotel:
I helped Lamb and her mom south to the shuttle to their airport on the island. It was on my way to the train station. I got my last Tim Horton's meal--a BLT and donut for the trip with an iced coffee for the moment--and boarded the train.
I sat next to a cute lass heading to a municipal government conference in Windsor who turned out to be well educated, too, and we had wide-ranging discussions of urban transportation and planning policies (Yes, I know what you're thinking: how can I still be single with such a great opening line!), families, pets, and whatnot.
She casually referred to her boyfriend as we talked, when it really wasn't relevant. Obviously, she figured she needed to remind herself aloud of his existence so she wouldn't ravage me right there, right then, to become a member of the Meter High Club. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
The train ride was going well, extending the vacation, when the train halted west of London. The problem? They couldn't get the computer to re-boot. WTF? Are we in orbit around a red star attempting to dock with a space station? We're on a train, for God's sake. We should have a coal problem. You can't re-boot the train? Seriously?
As time went on with no movement, a teenage girl nearby on her first train trip confessed to her seat mate that this whole experience was unbearable and she didn't know how she'd handle it. Never would she ride the rails, again. This is unbearable? No, going off the rails, crashing, and carrying your severed limb to a waiting EMS truck is unbearable. Missing your wedding is perhaps unbearable. Having your train break down safely and face a delay in getting to your destination? That's a walk in the park, my dear.
Eventually, another train towed us back to London (why they couldn't push us to Windsor is beyond me) where they dispatched buses to meet us. We arrived three and a half hours late in Windsor. I at least avoided the end-of-weekend casino patron traffic returning to Detroit. As a bonus, as we approached the station coming up Walker road from the opposite direction I always do, I spotted a Tim Horton's within easy walking distance of the station! It was set back from the road without even a sign on the road to announce it, hidden by the big brick wall that shouted "industrial" at me all these years. Is it new? Don't know. But as Tim as my witness, never again shall I go hungry or thirsty on the Windsor-Toronto run, forced to buy train food from a cart!
As a bonus, when going through US Customs, despite a worrying span of 30 seconds where I thought the questioning was veering into "pull over there so we can swab down your car for DNA evidence" territory (yes, I quickly responded when asked, as a matter of fact I did cross over with my son who is now with his grandfather--and probably mom, now too--to take care of him), the agent asked me where I worked, pulled out and looked at my business card I now keep in my passport folder, and moved on to what I was bringing back (stuffed animal, t-shirt, and history books) and sent me on my way after verifying I had no goat meat. Really. He joked. And I patiently waited without looking guilty while the agent talked in front of my car with the guy ahead of my who ran back from his parked car to see if he left one of the passports from his passengers with him.
So it was home, via a trip to feed Lamb's fish, who was doing fine, a quick scan of lots of email piling up in my absence, a few beers to ease my way into work life, and off to bed to go to work the next day. Nothing went amiss while away, this time. I had a brief bout of what seemed like a gathering cold virus so I took the next day off only to find it was a false alarm--perhaps my body reacquainting itself with local allergens.
And now my children are back in town! Set dial to "parent." And I'm delighted to do so.
It was a great vacation.
UPDATE: Lileks has complications, too. It's vacation. Things happen.
